Yes and No
by Sue Snell
Summary: Five angels who want their vessels to say yes and one who doesn't.
1. Chapter 1

You know those moments in life where you look at someone and just sort of know they complete you? Where you try to picture where you'd be without them and you can't, but you do know that you're a better person, just because they're there? You know those moments where you look at someone and _know_ you can never let them go?

Balthazar isn't having one of those moments. He's sick of trying to get things done without a vessel, though, so he's gone and pegged Kelly McCoy as "the one" anyway.

He wants someone people won't look too hard for when they disappear, and he'd like someone easy to get on with. Of course there's no rule that says an angel and his vessel _need_ to "get on" at all. If you're not in the mood to deal with their whiny little voice in your head then it's remarkably simple to shut the poor sod out completely, once you're in. All it takes is a moment of concentration and they'll fade away, easy as putting on headphones to drown out other commuters on the train.

Balthazar doesn't want to do that, though. Faking his death was too much trouble to do again, so he intends to keep the charade going as long as he can. That means he won't be going home any time soon, or otherwise crossing paths with any of his "brothers" or "sisters." He figures it'll be nice to have _someone_ around to talk to.

Kelly's recently unemployed, single, with no friends or any local family. He spends his days sitting around his flat, binge-watching mediocre American dramas and masturbating to Japanese porn.

"Not to judge," he tells Kelly, having popped into his head to explain the whole vessel thing after interrupting a particularly cruel nightmare, "But you seem to be at what they call a 'low point' right now." In the nightmare Kelly's wifi had kept turning itself off _just_ before he hit the point of no return. Luckily he seems to have lost interest in _that_ by this point. Funny how announcing you're an Angel of The Lord is _such_ a boner-killer for some humans.

"You're supposed to be an 'angel' and got nothing better to do than spy on some tosser that wanks five times a day and never leaves his flat." Kelly cocks an eyebrow and smirks. "I suppose that'd make you the expert on 'low points.'"

Oh yes. Oh _Dad_ yes. Kelly's definitely the one.

"Fair enough," Balthazar says, "That's the thing about being an angel, though. Hard to get much done without a vessel. Can't hardly talk to humans, can't hang about anywhere that hasn't been consecrated, can't have sex…"

"That's allowed?"

"You won't see anyone stopping _me_ , I can promise you that."

"So… _if_ I said yes, what would _I_ be doing while you did all this stuff, then? Watching?"

"Sort of, but also sort of experiencing, you know? It'd still be your body, after all. So what do you say?"

"I dunno…"

"Tell you what: Say yes now, we'll do one day, and at the end if you decide you want out, I'll put you right back in your flat, leave, and never watch you wank again. Deal?"

That's a lie. There's no changing your mind once you've said yes to an angel. Much as Balthazar would prefer something amicable, he knows he doesn't have the patience to start the vessel hunt back at square one if Kelly decides this isn't his cup of tea.

Luckily Kelly takes the bait, and Balthazar spends their first day shagging supermodels two at a time and taking occasional cocaine breaks in between. By the end of the trial period Kelly's a hundred percent on board.

Before long Balthazar's overjoyed to discover that Kelly's a big fan of people-watching and keeps a delightfully bitchy running commentary on everyone they see.

 _Look at that one,_ he hears when his eyes skim over some random girl on a sidewalk, _Must've bought that dress about five thousand Jaffa Cakes ago, bless her._

 _What's he hiding under there?_ This about a man who's selling Balthazar his soul and happens to be sporting an impressively awful combover. _Bet if you tried to look under it, it'd sort of peel back and roll up like a price sticker, you know?_ Once Balthazar conjures the mental image it's all he can do to keep a straight face, and he can feel Kelly's satisfaction at nearly getting him to crack. That's an odd thing about leaving the line open like this: Every so often Balthazar will catch a layered wave of secondhand emotion from his meatsuit, like sexual ecstasy colored by a hint of awkwardness when they're shagging someone, or condescension plus a shade of boredom when he's doing his heckler bit.

 _That bloke's bloody scary,_ is Kelly's initial assessment of Castiel, _He's like one of those Americans on the news that brings a machine gun to the office one day 'cause the lady at the front desk won't toss him a pity shag._

 _What, Cas?_ Balthazar snorts. _Never._

 _That's what they always say on the news, though, innit? "Him? He'd never—except he_ did _, didn't he? And come to think of it he always_ was _a little off…" That's what your mate is. Off, like._

 _He's wound a bit tight, sure, but he's not going to go full barmy on us. I_ know _Cas, okay? We go_ way _back. Best mates, him and me, so don't you worry about him._

The last thing Balthazar experiences—barely registering beneath the pain of getting literally stabbed in the back by his best mate—is the frankly insufferable way Kelly's mortal terror is tinged with a note of smugness.


	2. Chapter 2

Christopher Alder has been taking a lot of Nyquil lately. He doesn't have a cold. To make sure he falls asleep he's stopped using the little measuring cup and started drinking straight from the bottle. He doubts he drinks enough to accidentally overdose, but if he's wrong and one of these days he doesn't wake up, would it be such a tragedy? No one would miss him.

The Nyquil messes with his dreams, turns them vivid and feverish. The past few nights plopped him into the movies he used to watch on TV when insomnia struck. That might be kinda fun, except his brain never gets the movies all the way right. He'll be John McClane crawling through the air ducts but never getting to the part where he pops out, instead doomed to wriggle through that dark, narrow space forever. He'll be Batman facing off with the Scarecrow only for the Scarecrow to disappear into the crowd that wasn't there a second ago, and as he frantically pushes through the crowd to find him, he realizes he's Jason Bourne now and he needs to move faster because there's someone chasing _him_ …

Tonight's dream isn't like those dreams, though. He's not running from anyone or fighting anything. He's standing on a bridge, staring down into an icy river. He knows what he wants to do. _God_ , he knows what he wants to do, but does he have the guts?

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

The voice startles Chris, and he turns to see a man standing nearby wearing some kind of old-fashioned nightgown.

"Who are you?" Chris asks. There's something familiar about him, but he can't quite work out where he's seen him before.

The man frowns and looks down at himself, his grimace deepening as he examines the nightgown.

"You tell me," he says, " _Apparently_ this is what you think an angel looks like."

"Oh! Clarence." He didn't recognize him in color. To be fair, this isn't quite the way _It's a Wonderful Life_ goes. Chris knows; he must've watched that film fifty times over the holidays last year. Why can't any of these scenes play out like they're supposed to?

"Clarence, huh?" says the angel, "Think I've heard of that one."

"So does this mean you're gonna show me what the world would be like without me?"

"You know, Christopher, I would really like to do that."

Zachariah would not really like to do that. Now he knows who Christopher cast him as, though, he thinks he sees his path to the yes, and he _would_ really like to get this whole gaining consent thing out of the way so he can get back to doing real work. The seals are breaking left and right and the Apocalypse is coming, but according to Michael his future vessel is having a little trouble getting with the program. Zachariah has his orders from Michael on how to deal with it, and the archangel told him not to interact with the Winchesters—particularly Dean—without putting on a meatsuit first. Can't risk frying their precious little minds, after all.

Christopher is watching him expectantly. Right.

"You are a very important human, Christopher Alder," he says, watching Christopher's face for signs of mistrust, "And I could show you how important. I could show you how much the world needs you—and I hope you let me do just that—but the thing is, I can't _unless_ you do a little favor for me first."

"Need help earning your wings?" Christopher jokes, his smile so very strained. Zachariah sees the agonizing hope in his eyes, how much he needs this crazy Nyquil dream to give him a reason not to jump off a bridge for real when he wakes up.

"Not exactly."

Chris doesn't love the idea when Zachariah finishes explaining, but with his self-esteem in the gutter he can't think of a good reason why someone else _shouldn't_ take the wheel for a while.

"So once you're done helping this Dean guy 'find himself' or whatever you're talking about, you're going to bring me back home and show me why I matter?"

"I'm going to show you why you matter," Zachariah confirms.

"Then… yes."

The first thing Zachariah does with his new vessel is change him out of his pajamas and into a crisp business suit, admiring the fit in his bathroom mirror. He's still not a fan of playing dress-up with flesh, but he has to admit, he could do worse.

After his little identity exercise with Dean Winchester he does in fact keep his promise to Christopher. He'll never get to go home, no, but Zachariah never misses an opportunity to show him how much he matters.

Every time he watches a seal break, every time they come one step closer to the Apocalypse, to the war between Heaven and Hell where Heaven will claim glorious triumph, he takes a moment to turn inward and say, _See? We never could've done that without humans like you. You let us walk the earth, and now we're going to claim it._

Chris doesn't have the power to talk back, but from time to time Zachariah allows him to detach from cruel consciousness and dream again. He dreams of jumping off bridges.


	3. Chapter 3

Raphael doesn't bother to approach Shawna Price in her dreams or make any other such attempts to soften his overwhelming nature. Like his last vessel she possesses a strength few humans do, and can behold his power—perhaps even glimpse his true form—without injuring herself. He comes to her as a thunderstorm, so big and sudden and intense meteorologists for miles in every direction will spend the next couple of weeks puzzling over it.

Shawna's spending another late night at the firm when it happens, poring over some documents tied to a complicated case. The power flickers—she curses as her computer starts to reboot—and blazing bolts of lightning illuminate the city beyond the rain-streaked windows of her corner office. The following thunder is so loud it rattles her desk. It's frightening, but for some reason she feels more irritated, as if this awful weather's happening just to piss her off.

Her computer's gonna take a minute anyway, so she stands and strides over to the closest window, arms crossed.

Lightning flashes again—her eyes ache at the brightness—and she sees the shape of… _something_ in the roiling clouds before the sky goes dark and thunder vibrates her bones. She wouldn't be able to say why, but she instinctively reaches toward that something, her fingertips landing on the window's cool glass.

Lightning strikes once more, startlingly close to the window, and five crackling lines of electricity linger where her fingertips are, as if her window's one of those plasma globes kids get to play with in science class. The glass warms beneath her hand, and there's a feeling in her skull that's somewhere between the sound of a tuning fork and the taste of hard liquor. Immediately, she understands.

She knows his name is Raphael and he's fighting a war on Heaven and Earth. She knows he can't walk the earth without a human vessel and can't take a vessel without consent, though she gets the feeling his definition of "consent" doesn't come with any helpful subclauses about coercion. She knows he's the oldest of his brothers left in this world, and she feels his certainty that if there's anyone left who can begin to guess his absent Father's will, it's him.

She stands still and calm as this tidal wave of information washes over her. Maybe she's in shock, or maybe this freaky mental information transfer of his bypasses the part of the brain that gets surprised. Maybe it's the way she's built, because now she also knows she's special, one of the very small number of humans who can serve as a vessel to something as big as Raphael. And she knows it's genetic.

"You're what happened to Cousin Donnie," she says distantly, "Aren't you?" Of course he is. She gets a brief impression of a statue made of salt but Raphael snatches the image away from her mind before she has time to fully wrap her head around it.

She still misses her little cousin every day. At least now she doesn't have to wonder about where he is anymore, whether or not he might still be alive. She can still remember when Aunt Rita first brought him over to visit after he was born. She was just a kid at the time, and she was amazed by how tiny he was, having never seen a baby that small.

Raphael wants to know what Shawna's answer is. His impatience swirls in the air of her office like an itchy breeze.

"Let me think about it a minute," she tells him sternly, and his vibe takes on a darker, more sullen shape in response.

Her momma's been dead for years, and so has Aunt Rita. _Their_ momma died before Donnie was even born. Shawna's fuzzy about where the family tree branches beyond that point. She and Donnie never got any brothers or sisters; all the women in her family are real bad with the miscarriages. That's _just_ the women, though, thank God. Donnie had three healthy, _beautiful_ babies before he disappeared. All real tiny at first just like he was, but growing up nice and strong just like he did. The oldest turned nine just last month.

If she says no, where will Raphael go next?


	4. Chapter 4

The lunch time rush is long past and the mall's food court has fallen into one of those quiet, sleepy, afternoon lulls. Alfie's shift at the Wiener Hut will be over in about half an hour, but the minutes feel viscous and slow and his eyelids get heavier with every passing second. Normally at a time like this he'd distract himself from his lethargy by watching the display TV sitting in the window of the electronics store across the way, but right now all it's showing is static. His eyes wind up glued to the screen anyway, mesmerized by the dancing light.

The screen flickers and for a second instead of static snow he sees blazing fire, and then a massive deluge wiping out some foreign landscape, and then just for a heartbeat there's a glimpse of a face, an impossibly beautiful face…

He blinks and the static returns.

For a moment he's confused. Then he hears the voice of an angel inside his head. The angel's name is Samandriel, and he needs his help.

Alfie doesn't suspect for a second something might be wrong with his brain or Samandriel could be anything but what he says he is. Alfie says the Lord's Prayer every night before he goes to bed, and, even though he's never expected God to start talking back, he's not about to spend his first talk with an angel arguing with him.

Samandriel explains as quickly as he can what vessels are and why he needs one. It is imperative he take on a vessel immediately in order to attend the auction held by Plutus, to bid on and retrieve the Demon Tablet, the Word of God.

He knows Crowley will be there, but he doesn't expect trouble from him, nor does he intend to engage him. Crowley was a crossroads demon before he took the throne. That means it's in his nature to respect contracts, laws, and the laws of this gathering explicitly forbid them both from fighting the ongoing war between Heaven and Hell for the duration of the auction. Samandriel has no intention of lingering once the auction is over. He honestly means it when he tells Alfie he will be in no danger.

Alfie wants to say yes immediately, but he hesitates, thinking on his single dad and two little sisters. It'd be that little bit much harder for them to get along without his Wiener Hut paycheck. He also thinks on how his girlfriend's supposed to come over tonight to watch that new Green Arrow show on TV with him. During the commercial breaks they're gonna start working through that pile of scholarship applications together. He's got things and people he can't leave behind, even for an angel, so much as he wants to answer Heaven's call, he can't say yes if this'll take any longer than a day or two.

Samandriel foresees no need to remain in his vessel once the auction ends, and surely it will take but a matter of hours. He promises Alfie he'll be home in time to watch Arrow.

Samandriel has said a lot of things since then. He's screamed for his brothers and sisters to come rescue him, but Crowley must have warded this place too well for his cries to be heard, because none came. He's given up the name of every prophet of this generation. He's begged the King of Hell for mercy, knowing full well mercy would mean never going home again, never being anywhere again at all. But even with all of these things haunting him, that thing about Arrow is the one he regrets most.


	5. Chapter 5

Naomi's first impression on Diana Greer is not a good one.

Naomi is absolutely determined to make this woman her vessel. Diana is a good vessel from a strong family line, and there's… a certain quality about her. It's something difficult to wrap words around, but something Naomi knows she desires. The easiest way to describe it is perhaps to say that every angel knows some vessels will make for a more comfortable "fit" than others, and Diana is the best "fit" for Naomi that's been born in generations. This doesn't mean Naomi _can't_ choose another vessel if Diana proves difficult to persuade, but as far as Naomi's concerned it means getting the yes from Diana will be worth the effort.

The effort, however, is proving to be greater than Naomi predicted.

"You said there 'aren't many' humans like me," Diana says, regarding her with a calculating squint, "That means there _are_ others, right? You could ask someone else?"

"No," Naomi says, but she can see Diana doesn't believe her. Something about her approach has somehow made her lose her trust already.

She's tried appealing to Diana's loyalty to God and Heaven, but Diana seems barely convinced that God exists, much less that He cares what she does with her life. (Naomi supposes this is partially her own fault for visiting the woman in her dreams instead of during waking hours, when she could impress her with miracles.) She's tried emphasizing the part she would play in the war against evil, but Diana was unimpressed with that as well. The sacrifice Naomi asks of her is still too great so long as there are others who could take her place. Damn humans.

She's tried threatening her, just once, but funnily enough that made Diana think Naomi was lying about being an angel, and she was all the more determined not to let her control her body. That's certainly her worst attempt so far.

Next time she'll tell Diana she's the _only_ one who can help her in the war against Hell, and perhaps it will finally be too hard for her to say no. But Naomi's spent enough time here for one night. Best to leave, let Diana's mind have some time to recover, and return tomorrow.

Naomi disappears from Diana's dream without bothering to say goodbye and deftly removes their latest encounter from Diana's memory. Tomorrow she's sure she'll finally get her first impression right.


	6. Chapter 6

Michael doesn't want Adam Milligan to say yes. He doesn't really want Dean Winchester to say yes either, but that, at least, would be preferable to this. Better the man who broke the first seal in Hell and sent the world down this wretched path than this boy who knew nothing of Hell before he was dragged into it by his tainted blood.

The sooner he gets a yes—from any human unfortunate enough to carry Winchester blood in his veins—the sooner he walks the earth. The sooner he walks the earth, the sooner he faces Lucifer. The sooner he faces Lucifer, the sooner he must kill his little brother, the brother he'd loved the most back in the time before their Father disappeared.

His heart wrenches and aches at the mere thought, so much he's sure he won't survive the pain of actually doing it. He can picture it so clearly: Lucifer's vessel lying lifeless in the grass at Stull Cemetery, impaled upon his blade, and his own vessel falling beside it, unwounded but by sorrow just as dead.

Still, he will not shirk his duty. It was right when his Father locked Lucifer in the cage and it will be right when he carries out his Father's will to ensure Lucifer never threatens His creation again. It must be done, so best to do it quickly. The sooner he kills his little brother, the sooner his most important work will be complete, the sooner he may rest and never know such pain again.

At first Adam says no, tries to put on a brave face and stand against the inevitable like his brothers. Michael both loves and hates him for it. He shows no mercy when extracting the yes.


End file.
